


This is the way the world ends (Not with a bang but with a whimper)

by TinyButDeadly



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Actually Do, Character Death, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Langst, Lots of Angst, M/M, Please Don't Hate Me, Please Don't Kill Me, Protective Keith (Voltron), Sadness, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide is not explicitly described, T.S. Eliot Quotations, is that even a tag?, kind of, oh well, seriously, what is tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 13:46:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14833421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyButDeadly/pseuds/TinyButDeadly
Summary: Lance floated, ephemerally, fleetingly, where he once had bounced, vivid and full of life, his aura vibrant, ineffably brilliant blue. That blue had faded, becoming the color of sky just after dawn, weak and barely there. Keith, like always, waited, he watched, tortured yet indecisive, yelling at himself to help, to do something, but finding his lips unable to move, his voice frozen, his hands stilled.





	This is the way the world ends (Not with a bang but with a whimper)

Lance seemed... different, lately, distant in some unfathomable, incomprehensible way, his usually bright eyes faded, as if lost in a sea of thought, drifting aimless deep inside himself, his happy exterior gone, his armor desecrated, leaving behind someone unknown to Keith, someone who did not quite seem like himself. He floated, ephemeral, fleeting, where he once had bounced, vivid and full of life, his aura vibrant, ineffably brilliant, blue. That blue had faded, becoming the color of sky just after dawn, weak and barely there. Lance seemed off, Keith noticed, he noticed but did nothing, nothing to save the one he loved, nothing to tell him he was wanted, nothing to preserve what was left of Lance, nothing said, nothing done. Keith, like always, waited, he watched, tortured yet indecisive, yelling at himself to help, to do something, but finding his lips unable to move, his voice frozen, his hands stilled.

 

Keith snapped back to reality in the form of a sword to the face. He yelled for the training to stop. How simple it was to do that, like flicking a switch, drawing a knife across your wrist, life ending, motion stopped, like it was never there. In some kind of premonition, some kind of lucky epiphany, Keith felt something, a flutter, a gasp, a cutting pain unlike any other.  _ Lance,  _ he breathed, barely a whisper, barely a word.  _ LANCE, _ a gasp, an intake of life, a feeling of loss. He didn't stop to think, he didn't stop to worry, to agonize. For once, Keith was spurred into action, set into motion. Perhaps it was due the twisting, turning feeling in his gut, the sickness felt, the feeling of complete, utter wrongness. LANCE, it was a scream now, crescendoing, pounding into his head, overtaking all of Keith's senses. LANCE. LANCE! LANCELANCELANCE.  _ Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP! _ He had to have a clear head if he were to do what he needed to do, to save Lance from whatever his instinct was telling him, the visceral feeling coursing through his veins, his bones, his soul. The words stopped. A feeling of loss sounded through him.

 

Keith ran. He ran without stopping until he reached Lance's room, horror and adrenaline making his heartbeat faster, faster than should be possible, faster and faster until it was but a blur, it could be his imagination taking over, but as he opened the door, he expected the worst. He would like to say the door creaked, or inched open, but Altean doors were as silent as a graveyard, as silent as death and just as swift.

 

Lance was gone from the bedroom, but what Keith saw there stopped his heart. Needles, knives, razors and other sharp edges laid about in haphazard heaps. They seemed rusty, covered in it. But as Keith knows, space metal doesn't rust. The only thing that could be on those sharp objects, was blood. Keith let out one harsh laugh, more of a sob, a noise choked with grief and agony. A projection of Lance's beautiful, vibrant, yet now so faded eyes swam into his despair-clouded vision. He let out another noise, a whimper. As they say, the world will go out not with a bang but a whimper.

 

The bathroom door was ajar, and Keith realized that in his suffering he could have been stopping Lance's. The sliver of light seeps through the doorway, reflecting off some of the cursed metals strewn around the room. He crept around the edge of the door, for some twisted reason not wanting to disturb what was going on in the bathroom. It seemed quiet... too quiet. Not a bang but a whimper.

 

"Lance?" Softly, ever so softly, unlike the tone he usually used with his so-called "rival." Their fights seemed almost funny now, as he tiptoed deeper into the bathroom and despair.

 

"K.. Keith...?" A whimper, not a bang, never a bang, always a whimper. Lance came into view, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, his lovely skin, skin that he takes such good care of, replaced with the pallor of near-death. His heart skipped a beat. A pool of water sat stagnantly in the tub, tinged pink with Lance's life force.

 

"Lance... oh Lance... my Lance, my sweet Lance." He spoke, with not a bang but a whimper.

 

"Keith, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... I just felt so useless and I.."

 

"Hush, save your strength." Lance laughed brokenly, a noise that pierced his heart and his soul.

 

"For what, Keith? I'm almo-" Coughing, he broke off, "I'm almost gone."

 

"Not if I have any say in it." He gazed frantically, looking for something, anything, to save Lance’s life, to save his beloved. He snatched a towel and wrapped it around his wrist. Crimson overtook white, not fast but a trickle. Not a bang but a whimper. It seemed like good news, he wasn't bleeding too badly. A dark voice whispered in his head,  _ what if he doesn’t have any more blood to give. _ He shook it off, he had to live, he must live.

 

He scooped him up. He was still, a doll, the only sign of life being the faint flutter of his chest. He felt light, too light. He threw open the door, rushing through the hallways, trying to find his way to a cryopod.

 

"Keith... I remembered." He mumbled, He strained to hear him. What was the way again? He was losing it, and if he lost it Lance would lose his life. The thought sobered him.

 

"Remembered what?"

 

"When... When you... held me. I remembered." He spoke, not a bang but a whimper.

 

"I knew it!"

 

"Sorry for, you know, acting all..."

 

"It's okay, Lance, I know." But it wasn't okay, Lance was dying because of his negligence.

 

"It... It wasn't your f-fault..."

 

"What?" A whimper, not a bang.

 

"This," He gestured to himself, the towel now crimson, dripping red onto the pristine floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. Not a bang but a whimper. "It isn't your fault." Drip. Drip. "Don't beat... beat... yourself up about it." Drip. And Lance was gone, not a bang but a whimper, the cryopod just through the next doorway.

 

This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper.

 

\- T.S. Eliot

 

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE DO NOT LYNCH ME. This is my first fic that I posted, and hopefully more are to come! (Why am I so cringy?)


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